


Rainy Days

by abp



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, PWP, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:52:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abp/pseuds/abp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s with rainy days?”<br/>“Hmm?”<br/>“I’m 72% more likely to get morning sex on a rainy day,” he points out.<br/>Combeferre laughs airily against his skin. “I don’t believe that statistic.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainy Days

Courfeyrac wakes to a warm body pressed against him and nipping kisses at his collarbone. There’s a pattering sound of rain against their window. He feels fingers grazing up his hip and he gives a little gasp, shuddering. “Ferre?”

Combeferre hums against Courfeyrac’s throat, where he’s started lavishing attention.

“What’s with— _ah_ ” his breath escapes him at a particularly firm bite. “What’s with rainy days?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m 72% more likely to get morning sex on a rainy day,” he points out.

Combeferre laughs airily against his skin. “I don’t believe that statistic.” He amends his teasing with a reverent kiss right at the spot on Courfeyrac’s neck that makes him squirm.

“It’s true,” Courfeyrac insists, a little petulantly. “I’ll dig out the charts later.”

Combeferre laughs again, raising himself to hover over Courfeyrac and look down on him. Courfeyrac enjoys the view greatly. “Is it a problem?”

He’s teasing and taunting, with a twitch of a smile on his lips and mischievous look in his eyes (he has all their friends fooled into thinking he’s innocent as a baby lamb—but Courfeyrac knows better).

Courfeyrac takes it with good humor. “Not a problem,” he admits. “I’m thinking we should move to Seattle, though.”

Combeferre snorts this time and there’s mirth in his eyes. “Ridiculous,” he murmurs fondly before leaning in to kiss him.

The taste of mint is overwhelming and Courfeyrac nearly laughs. _Of course_ Combeferre would go brush his teeth before launching his seduction attack. Courfeyrac feels a little bad about his own morning breath, but Combeferre doesn’t seem to mind. At any rate, he keeps kissing him deeply until Courfeyrac feels a little dizzy.

“What do you want?”

Combeferre’s too composed—Courfeyrac wants to shake him or _something_. His own breath is coming in pants and he feels flushed, but Combeferre is merely looking down at him with complete control over every feature. The desire in his eyes is the only thing that suggests he is affected at all.

“You,” Courfeyrac answers simply, when he finds he has the words to. “Anything, just as long as it’s you.”

Combeferre rewards him with a tender kiss, a soft press of chapped lips. “How magnanimous of you.” He’s teasing, but the look in his eyes is dangerous –a good dangerous—and Courfeyrac has a feeling he will regret his indecision in the best sort of way.

“Well, you know me,” Courfeyrac supplies, but Combeferre isn’t paying much attention; he’s already moved to kiss and bite down Courfeyrac’s neck again, before moving to his bare chest. Courfeyrac gasps and fists the sheets when Combeferre swirls his tongue around his nipple.

He moves so slowly, devoting his attention fully, that Courfeyrac feels himself going mad as kisses trail lower and fingernails drag down his side. Combeferre is very careful to avoid his hardening cock, of course. Instead he spends minutes pressing kisses to every spot across Courfeyrac’s stomach that makes him squirm and nearly squeal, and even longer sucking and nibbling at his hipbones until he’s moaning.

Courfeyrac tries very hard to be patient, because he knows Combeferre wants the satisfaction of making him beg (not that Combeferre will do anything but continue at his own glacier-like pace until he wants to move on. It’s a little infuriating but entirely hot). Even so, Courfeyrac can’t hold out long.

“Ferre,” he whines, hips bucking up, though he’s held down firmly, as Combeferre mouths just above the waistband of his tented boxers. “ _Please_.”

“Please what?”

“Touch me! Fuck me! Anything just _please_ ,” Courfeyrac half growls. “Please, please, _please_.”

Combeferre’s laugh is low and it goes straight to Courfeyrac’s dick. He’s starting to ache with arousal and feels hot all over. “I thought you were being magnanimous, hmm?” he taunts, but presses his lips to Courfeyrac’s covered erection.

Courfeyrac moans, his hips struggling against Combeferre’s grip when he feels that hot, wet mouth over him. “No, I’m selfish!” he pleads. “I’m so selfish. Please, please, do something. Make me come. Anything please.” He thinks he’s starting to babble but sense is quickly leaving his head.

“Alright,” Combeferre practically purrs, his smile stretching catlike across his face. He moves away, though, and Courfeyrac groans in disappointment.

“ _Combeferre_ ,” he whines.

Combeferre’s leaning over him to reach in the nightstand. He hushes him softly. “Patience.”

“Fuck patience,” he grumbles. But Combeferre is back between his spread thighs before he can complain any further, and now he has lube. His boxers are being pulled off moments later; he lifts his hips eagerly to facilitate the action. “Yours too,” Courfeyrac adds insistently.

A grin crosses Combeferre’s features—one that screams _you’re not in charge here_ —but he listens and his boxers join Courfeyrac’s carelessly on the floor.

Courfeyrac admires the view, tongue darting out over his dry lips.

Combeferre moves forwards, their bodies pressed together as he leans down to kiss Courfeyrac. He kisses slowly, lazily, but Courfeyrac answers back desperately with clashing teeth and a persistent tongue. His hips arch up to slot against Combeferre’s and he groans at the beautiful friction.

All too soon, Combeferre is pulling away and Courfeyrac’s groan fades into a whine. He tries to pull Combeferre back to him unsuccessfully.

“Needy,” Combeferre chides, settled between Courfeyrac’s thighs. He spreads Courfeyrac’s legs a little further, then reaches for the bottle of lube.

Courfeyrac whines again, biting at his lip as he waits as patiently as he can. Thankfully, Combeferre is merciful and doesn’t take unnecessary time before he pushes his first finger in.

“Very needy,” Combeferre comments with a smirk as Courfeyrac’s hips push back. Courfeyrac would argue for the sake of it if he wasn’t far more concerned with getting Combeferre to hurry up.

He’s out of luck, as Combeferre decides to be very meticulous. Combeferre knows just how to play him—where to curl his fingers, how to best alternate slow and fast thrusts in order to drive Courfeyrac crazy, how long to go on before pushing another finger in.

It feels like years before Combeferre finally heeds Courfeyrac’s near sobs as he tries to fuck himself on Combeferre’s fingers. “Do you think you’re ready?”

“Yes, God yes,” he babbles.

“Well I’m not so sure.” He punctuates this with another thrust of his fingers.

Courfeyrac lets out a whine. Until he’d met Combeferre, he’d never known he could feel so torn between wanting to kick someone and wanting to make out with them until he couldn’t breathe. “I’m going to _cry_ if you don’t hurry up.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Combeferre croons. Because Combeferre is evil.

After a moment more of making Courfeyrac squirm, Combeferre pulls his fingers out. “Should I—“

“No,” Courfeyrac interrupts, anticipating his words. “No condom.”

Combeferre leans in for a brief and filthy kiss that leaves Courfeyrac breathless and a little dazed. He watches a little—okay, a _lot_ —impatiently as Combeferre takes his sweet time getting the lube and spreading it over his cock.

“So help me god, if you don’t get your dick inside me _now_ , Ferre…” he trails off, threat empty.

Combeferre only laughs, lining himself up and pressing in slowly.

Courfeyrac lets out a contented sound, circling his arms around Combeferre’s neck. It’s a little uncomfortable at first, but Combeferre waits for a moment and lets him get used to it. And it’s good—he feels stretched and full and completely open to Combeferre. It’ll only get better, too. Combeferre drops his head to leave open-mouthed kisses along Courfeyrac’s neck.

He whimpers, wriggling his hips back to urge Combeferre to move.

Combeferre picks up on the hint and begins a series of slow, steady thrusts that Courfeyrac matches. His fingers skate down to Combeferre’s shoulders, digging his nails in. It earns a pleased little moan from Combeferre and a harder thrust that in turn makes Courfeyrac gasp and shudder, sparks running through him.

“Faster,” he demands in a groan. “C’mon, Ferre.”

Combeferre gives a breathy laugh, but each thrust of his hips comes quicker and with more force.

Courfeyrac moans softly, arching his hips. His cock is dripping precome on his stomach, aching and hard, but Courfeyrac’s not ready to come yet and he knows if he touches his cock he will.

“You’re so beautiful,” Combeferre murmurs, kissing up his jawline.

Courfeyrac’s breath hitches and he wonders if he still might cry. “I love you,” he returns, desperately. “I love you _so fucking much_.”

Combeferre moves to kiss him and Courfeyrac moans eagerly into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he groans when their lips part. “Fuck, I can’t—I need to come. _Ferre_.”

Combeferre stops him before he can reach a hand between them. “Hold on just a little longer, gorgeous, and I’ll take care of you,” he soothes, kissing Courfeyrac again.

Courfeyrac lets out a whining sound that he thinks would be embarrassing if he weren’t so desperate. “ _Please_.”

“Trust me,” Combeferre says, voice strained. And how can Courfeyac not?

His thrusts get faster and a little erratic—Courfeyrac can see that Combeferre’s close. He pulls him into another kiss, sucking at his bottom lip.

Combeferre gasps and lets out a broken sound against his mouth and Courfeyrac can tell he’s come—can feel it in the last few slower, desperate rocks of his hips and the tensing of his muscles under Courfeyrac’s fingertips. He pulls back from the kiss, breathing hard.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice reedy in a way that makes Courfeyrac shudder.

“I love you too,” Courfeyrac says, Combeferre not moving atop him. “Even though you’re crushing me into the mattress.”

Combeferre’s laugh is low and sweet. “Subtle,” he teases, lifting himself off of Courfeyrac and pulling out.

Courfeyrac whimpers, hips thrusting up, wanting _something_. “Ferre—“

“I know, I promised,” he soothes, kissing him once more before moving down between Courfeyrac’s splayed thighs. Combeferre presses a kiss to the tip of Courfeyrac’s cock, making him whimper and squirm, before taking him in his mouth.

Combeferre has to hold Courfeyrac’s hips down firmly to keep him from thrusting up—and even then, Courfeyrac can’t help struggling. He tangles his fingers in Combeferre’s hair, moaning. The wet heat is too much—he’s not going to last. Courfeyrac’s toes curl and he groans when Combeferre pulls back to suck at just the head, swirling his tongue around while his hand strokes up and down the base.

“Ferre,” he pants in warning, but Combeferre only looks up devilishly in a way he _shouldn’t be allowed to do_ _when his lips are wrapped around Courfeyrac’s cock_. Courfeyrac’s lost.

He comes with a groan, melting into the bed as the pleasure buzzes through him and fades to leave him warm and fuzzy. A whimper escapes him when Combeferre lets him slip from his mouth—a whine following when he watches Combeferre lick his lips.

“Fuck me,” he sighs dramatically, earning a chuckle.

Combeferre crawls back up beside him (Courfeyrac cuddles against his chest immediately). “Again? Give me an hour.”

Courfeyrac groaned playfully. “What did I say about your bad jokes?”

He can tell Combeferre’s grinning pleasantly, even though he can’t see his face. Combeferre’s arms circle around him. “That you love them?”

Courfeyrac nuzzles against his neck. “I love you _in spite_ _of_ them,” he teases back.

Combeferre kisses the top of his head. “Shower.”

Courfeyrac gives a whine.

“And then I’ll make you breakfast.”

Courfeyrac hums, pleased.

“And _then_ you can show me those charts of yours.”

At this he laughs and looks up at his smiling boyfriend. “I really have them, you know.”

“Oh I believe you,” Combeferre assures, grin in place. “You wouldn’t lie about charts.”

“It’s like you know me.”

Combeferre kisses the tip of his nose playfully.

It’s still raining outside, he notices, though it’s slowed to a soft drizzle.

“And then,” Courfeyrac prompts. “We can spend the day together?”

Combeferre’s smile is so fond and genuine that Courfeyrac can’t for a second imagine Combeferre isn’t as hopelessly in love with him as he is with Combeferre.

“And then we can spend the day together.”


End file.
